


All My Nights Taste Like Gold

by Golden_Ticket



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: 2016, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Secret Relationship, but fluffy sexy times, fluff with a little sexy times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 08:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14257380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Golden_Ticket/pseuds/Golden_Ticket
Summary: "She is so in love, she doesn’t want to sleep, doesn’t want to miss out on anything that happens as long as he is by her side."***One-Shot inspired by Tessa liking a Dr. Seuss quote on twitter in September 2016.





	All My Nights Taste Like Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to the Happy Chat, because all the happy is for them and because of them. And TS of course. But they're not reading this. (I hope.)
> 
> Title from "Waking Up Slow" by Gabrielle Aplin

**All My Nights Taste Like Gold**

 

_“You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.” - Dr. Seuss_

 

For the first time in days, the shiver running down Tessa’s spine is not from the gentle touches of the man she loves. It’s an early September evening and through the day the lingering August heat had been warm on her bare legs, her shorts and plain shirt completely adequate but now that the sun has begun to set and the wind has picked up, she feels chilly.

“You cold?” Scott asks in the same moment that she closes her arms around herself. She turns her head to him to where he sits beside her on an old blanket, leaning on his elbows, his brow furrowed in question.

“Yeah,” she tells him and when he’s already attempting to strip out of the light sweater he’s wearing over a shirt, she pats his arm no.

“Let’s just go home,” she says easily and unlocks out of her own embrace to catch his hand in hers as he sits up and gives it a squeeze. He nods.

 

They leave the beach behind with the little they brought with them from the cottage just a short walk away; the blanket and a now empty bottle of water that they shared. Tessa carries this while Scott scooped up the blanket, which is fortunate because it allows them each a free hand to then give to the other. It’s nice. It’s simple. Pedestrian. As the sky turns a darker shade of blue, they make their way down the stony foot trail in amicable silence. They’ve talked so much these last few days that words are really quite unnecessary with nothing to catch each other up on because they’ve spent the last 48 hours almost entirely together. Sure, they could always find things to talk about if they tried but with twenty years knowing each other, there aren’t very many things they aren’t aware of anyway. It’s in the swing of their steps as they walk, it’s in the way she can see him look at her from the corner of her eyes and smile.

 

It’s also in the way that he drops her hand like hot coals when they see a silhouette appear from behind the bushels ahead. A neighbour walking her dog. Unsuspecting eyes.

“Want me to hide?” Scott asks and it’s only half a joke.

Tessa says his name as if she’s saying “Don’t be silly” but doesn’t take his hand again. This still isn’t common knowledge, that they have added this terribly commonplace (but wonderful, so, so wonderful) aspect to their partnership and for the time being, there are no plans to change it.

As they walk on, the silhouette gets closer, revealing grey, tuffy hair and leathery skin with an inviting smile.

“Hey Cheryl,” says Tessa when the other woman is close enough to hear and stops when they meet on the way. Her corgi takes an interest in Scott’s loafers and Tessa greets him with the same warmth she had greeted his owner.

“This is Scott,” Tessa says then and the older woman nods in a way that means ‘I know’ but holds out her hand to shake his anyway.

“Nice to meet you,” he says and Cheryl echoes before turning to Tessa again. If she is in any way surprised by him being there, she doesn’t show it.  

“It’s getting cold again,” the neighbour says and Tessa and Scott both nod, as is custom with weather small talk.

“Yeah, we were just heading back,” Tessa tells her.

“You better do, you’re barely wearing a thing,” Cheryl agrees, her tone grandmotherly and then nods again. “Well, have a nice evening. Nice to meet you, Scott. And good luck for next season.”

 

They thank her and say goodbye in a way that is trained, their demeanour switching from two regular people walking home into Virtue-and-Moir mode, triggered by her mention of their career. Like a shot, they’re public figures, shaped by notoriety and years of media and fan experience. It takes until they are inside the cottage to strip out of these costumes again. Slipping in and out of the masks that they wear for the greater world to see is mostly easy because they have been doing it so long but after two days wrapped up in nothing but each other, it almost feels like rusted armour neither of them really wants to be in. Tessa doesn’t need to say it, stepping out of her flip flops and watching him arrange his shoes neatly on the rack behind the door. It’s enough to catch his eye. This secret-keeping isn’t his favourite part of their relationship but then again in a way they have always kept secrets, just different ones.

 

Back in Canton, keeping from Marina just how difficult it was to skate with their biggest competitors first suspecting, then _knowing_ that she favoured the others, especially towards the end. Before Vancouver, telling everyone who would listen that they hadn’t talked during Tessa’s recovery from her surgery because she didn’t want to burden him and he didn’t want to rub his health in her face, when that was only half of the reason (the other half was that they had crossed a boundary before she went away, knowing that they shouldn’t have and were both too young and stupid to deal with it like adults after the fact). During their first Olympics when Tessa said in every interview how nice it felt to be healthy again after her surgery when she really was in so much pain she could hardly walk to the cafeteria in the Athletes Village. Back in Sochi when people asked if they would retire and they said they didn’t know for sure when they _knew._ Back in Scotland when they’d stood outside of the pub having a near wordless conversation and Kaitlyn had asked in a carefully arranged nonchalance what was going on and they said it was an insider joke and didn’t matter when they both knew something had shifted between them, fallen back into place (which, and Tessa is aware of this in hindsight, was clear to them even then, Scott’s relationship wouldn’t survive).

 

Now their secret is just as precious as they have always been, maybe even more so. Because now it’s literally everything they have left to themselves. Yes, this is by their own design. In deciding to come back for another shot at the Olympics, they had forfeit the privacy they had fallen into after Sochi. Now they are looking for the limelight, to gain notoriety and interest again to carry that with them to Korea (where, God knows they would need it, with the way things were already being stacked against their favour to advance yet another couple that trains with them...it’s a bit of a deja vu). Still, the one thing that would probably sell the most to that end is the _truth_ but they had decided very early on that this particular truth was to not even touch anything they gave away to be to some extent monetized and weaponised for their image.

The fact that they loved each other outside the confines of best friends and skating partners was theirs and they wanted to neither cheapen the career they’d built over twenty years by slapping “romantic couple” over it as if falling in love had been their biggest achievement (which it wasn’t, falling in love had been easy as breathing and equally as inevitable), nor did they want to cheapen the romantic side of their relationship by turning it into something to sell. So they’d agreed to keep this to themselves and only the people around them they trusted know, immediate friends and family, the few people at B2Ten who needed to, Marie-France and Patrice, and it would stay this way at least until they had announced their definite retirement from competitions after PyeongChang. Which is still a little less than two years out.

 

But it isn’t very hard so far. In Montreal, they live in the same building which is somewhat common knowledge and nobody cares or knows if Scott spends half the nights at Tessa’s and in London his family knows why he has given up his place in the city but won’t stay with them either and when they go to get coffee in the mornings, they can always sell that they’re just meeting up before practice. Now at Tessa’s cottage, his being there might turn a few heads but mostly the people in the neighbourhood are like Cheryl who is likely too old to care or hit up Twitter and tell people, so Tessa isn’t overly worried. And even if she told someone, they were just walking and they’re friends...they get to walk places together.

 

“Earth to T,” Scott says, still standing in the hall and she realizes that she’s stared into the void in thought for a while there.

“Sorry, I was-” She begins.

“Thinking about hunting down Cheryl and breaking her fingers so she can’t tweeter about seeing me here?” Scott cuts in. She laughs.

“I think Cheryl is about as apt at Twitter as you are, so I think we’re good.”

“Ouch,” he says, clasping his palm over his heart in mock-offense. “I’m getting so much better!”

“You tell yourself that,” she taunts and he’s on her in retaliation in a heartbeat, catching her mouth with his in a sloppy kiss and she’s still laughing when he winds his tongue into her mouth with little grace.

 

She doesn’t mind and melts into his arms, giving way when he leans in and then after a while gives her own pressure back to him, deepening the kiss and pushing him against the door behind them. It’s a while that they do this until he breaks away from her, cupping her face in his palms and grins.

“Did you wanna eat something or can I?” He asks over a grin.

She tilts her head. “You wanna eat something alone?” She knows it’s a stupid question when he arches his eyebrows and smizes, almost winking but not quite. “Oh, you.”

“So?”

“Not in the doorway,” she tells him and before she’s even done speaking, he has scooped her up in his arms and carries her all the way to the bedroom.

 

He puts her down onto the bed with the same ease and strength he puts her down onto the ice, so seamless she hardly notices that she has solid ground underneath her. His hands are on her hips, standing above her with one knee on the mattress while she runs her fingers across his chest, lying on her back. She pushes her hips off to help him get her out of her hot pants and underwear. Once she is free of the restricting garments, he grabs her by the hip in a trained motion and sinks to his knees while pulling her to the end of the bed, placing her left leg on his shoulder. She giggles when he kisses her thigh there and makes his way forward but the laugh catches in her throat when his nose bumps into her sensitive flesh (she loves his nose a lot on any regular occasion, but extremely when he’s doing _that_ ).

 

In a matter of moments, her hand is fisting his hair, pushing him closer and he sighs against her skin at her urgency, which in turn makes her moan and scratch his scalp harder. She curses under her breath as he repositions her again for better access and then all she feels is his hot mouth and tongue lashing, exploring, twisting and prodding with a certainty and assuredness like he’s been handed a map and pushes all the right buttons. Tessa arches her back and forgets her name.

 

He doesn’t get her off, not because he couldn’t but because she gets impatient. She wants him now, all of him and that gorgeous, capeable mouth on hers and so she pulls him up, using her muscles because he’s weak with wanting her and she loves it. She knows somewhere down there he had planned to take his time but when he’s on top of her and they’re making record time getting each other out of the last bits of clothing, patience and pacing goes out of the window (because apparently it’s one of _those_ times).

They chase each other to the high point, him waiting for her, ever the gentleman. She loves when he follows after her because she lives to see his face contort and slip in pleasure, the way his jaw squares and then he opens his mouth into a growl and he looks like he’s almost in pain. She loves how she can feel him when he comes, loves how his fingernails dig into her skin like he is holding on for dear life and the little whimper that follows before he stills in her and lingers just to catch his breath.

 

She runs her hands up and down the arms that keep him up, hovering above her and he’s staring at her as he pulls out, biting his lip. She loves this man so much she could cry.

“Fuck,” he mutters and lowers himself down on her. She likes his weight on her, has told him a while ago and so he stays a moment, the two of them breathing in sync, their heartbeats in unison as they’ve been conditioned to and her hands wander to his hair. It’s getting longer, also because she told him a while ago that she likes it this way. He’s heavy but not uncomfortably so, more reassuring. She is locked in under him and nothing can touch her there, nothing but him.

“I’m sorry,” he says then. “I didn’t mean for it to be so quick.”

Tessa can’t help but laugh. “Don’t you dare apologise.”

“No, but I mean, I wanted-,” he starts.

“I know,” she says and kisses the side of his face she can reach by turning her head. “But we’ve got all night.”

For this he rolls off of her gently, tucking her into his side in one swift move. “Oh, so you’ve been planning another round?”

“Unless you want to sleep,” she says. He nuzzles his face into her hair.

“I’m not tired at all.” He tells her in ernest. “If I could, I’d do this all day, all night. Fuck sleeping, fuck skating. I’d do nothing but you every second of every day.”

“Aw,” she coos, enjoying the way he still, after nearly a year, isn’t tired of saying things like these to her. “You’d definitely medal in that too.”

“Oh, would I?” He turns to his side so she lies under him again and he’s propped up on his elbow to look at her, his free hand starting a well-trained course up and down the sides of her body. “What medal?”

“Hm,” she mock-considers. “Well your technical score is certainly high.”

“Am I getting all my marks?”

“All of them,” she assures him. “Level fours all around.”

“What about the performance?” He asks her, leaning in and she is enjoying this more than she should.

“Well, overall performance tonight wasn’t the season’s best but we’ll get there-”

“-in like half an hour.” He interjects and she laughs for a while because he’s adorable and she is always in awe of his stamina, really. She is kind of a machine when it comes to these exploits but he likes to keep up with her, much more so than any man before. She guesses this is sort of their dynamic. He has always been very eager to be even with her in every aspect of their physical exertions, and he pursues matching her appetite for him with a diligence that is remarkable and she loves him for it.

“Very great transitions as well,” she tells him in almost reverence. “And the composition, good God!”

“So that’s gotta be Gold,” he says.

“Would that make you happy?”

“The happiest.”

“Of course you get Gold,” she grins and he kisses her, quickly on the lips but doesn’t continue with it. He leans back away, eyes hungry for more praise and she finds nothing wrong in indulging him. “You get Gold every time.”

He wooes and takes his hand off of her to wave it around and it’s so silly, she can’t stop the giggles even when he kisses her again and pulls her onto him, flipping them around and it just goes on like this.

 

The second time they pretty much laugh through the whole thing, Scott picking up the thread of being judged, asking for levels in between and every time it sparks new laughter (which is a very nice thing to combine with the other things going on) and it’s a funny thing to have an orgasm while laughing. After the third time, Tessa can tell her athlete is done for the night, to his own great regret but she is aware that there are limits to everything and when they shower together, she leaves him alone. Well, at least she doesn’t touch him below the navel so that has to count for restraint.

 

Once they get out, it’s close to midnight but instead of going to sleep like reasonable people, Tessa makes Scott blow-dry her hair and watch a couple episodes of Friends and then some baking competition and then they talk about that for a while, of how epically she would fail on that show and how he’d obviously win it and it’s a quarter to three when he turns the night light off and kisses the top of her head. He doesn’t hold her when he falls asleep, knowing that it’s useless. She gets restless, turning and rolling and adjusting her position again and again. But luckily he never minds. He can sleep anywhere, including next to a thrashing Tessa who needs some real time to get comfortable.

 

Also she isn’t tired. And she could still go for him once more. But that’s a given. She could _always_ go for once more. So she lets her soldier sleep and instead plucks her phone from where it still sits in her short’s pocket on the floor and checks up on her social media.

 

There’s nothing out of the usual, some mentions she likes and then her feed of the everyday funny little anecdotes, quotes and jokes. One of which catches her eye as if it had been posted just for her. It’s a quote by Dr. Seuss: “You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.” She deliberates for all of one second of she should like it (because someone might see and pick up on it) but then decides that it doesn’t matter. Nobody knows and she feels this quote on a spiritual level, so she taps the little heart and smiles.

 

This is her life now, that quote. She is so in love, she doesn’t want to sleep, doesn’t want to miss out on anything that happens as long as he is by her side. Her reality is the dream, finally. She is skating again, skating with Scott and she’s loving him and gets to love him, without fear or inhibitions or worries or arbitrary rules. Allowing themselves to be what they are has been maybe the best decision they made going into their comeback and if there had been second thoughts about going there while they were still competing had been there, now experience has rendered them obsolete. This is _working._ It’s working so much better than she ever dreamed it would.

They are not perfect but they’re excellent and their bond, the trust and the love they share is so much better than anything she could have even imagined. It’s everything and (not for the first time) she counts her blessings. That she gets to be this happy, this fulfilled, this loved. She puts her phone on the bedside table and turns to Scott, who has dependably started to snore softly and she loves even this.

 

She turns to him, then away from him and back again and by then, she is tired enough to finally fall asleep too. Not that she wants it so much. If she could, she’d stay awake forever just to feel everything undiluted and immediate. But alas, her body needs it and the ache of not being conscious for the next few hours is severely dulled by the knowledge that he’ll be right there next to her when she wakes up.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and every single comment, they make me write more and faster and better (that might be a lie but I try!) <3


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